Check 1, 2

[Verse 1: Erick Sermon] EPMD.. Def Jam.. blazin.. Check it, uh-huh, YO It's E-Dub on the microphone My style be Elektra, I'm the male Syl Rhome Homes, walk around with forty-four chrome On safety, spike the mic in the end zone This here ain't the average shit, you used to Front, and automatic rounds, will shoot you So knock it off, like Biggie Smalls said Duke you soft Why you wanna fuck with the boss? [Verse 2: Parrish Smith] Where should I start? Breakin' MC's or shatterin' charts? It's Diablo, PMD Mic Doc with the purple heart The go-getter, getter, get wit 'er, hit 'er-split 'er Front and back, and if she wit it, straight in the shitter So heidi heidi heidi hydro, pack gats and ammo Funky Piano, van like the fuckin' [tano?] With more cheese than Lambeau, more heat than Rambo Break down dismantle when I scramble [Chorus: Erick Sermon (Parrish Smith)] I just get down, and I go for mines Say check 1, 2 -- and run down the line (Inclined to shine) with techs and (forty-four mags and nines) Don't get too close because you might get shot X2 [Verse 3: Erick Sermon] Uhh, yo, ey, and yo EPMD, fuckin' with us is bad news Me and you got different views What you might say is dope, I say's not What I might call whack, you'll call hot The best thing for you, is to think and hope Or get choked, and hung with The Velvet Rope Cause you too theatrical, mess around And end up smackin' you, jackin' you, attackin' you [Verse 4: Parrish Smith] That's why it's crucial, so stay neutral to collect the cash Double beaucoup, just rippin' up mics, is what my crew do Whatever suits you, pull out the burner, fuck the shoot through Roadblocks and smear campaigns, with the two-two Or tech nine, that'll chew, through your waistline I'm accurate, don't waste mine, spit on baseline Run with the unseen potential to be on Dateline I don't fake mine, you blaze crazy, while I pace mine [Verse 5: Erick Sermon] Yeah, now why y'all wanna mess with the vets? We've been doin' this shit, since Dear Yvette, check I make shit that make you wanna smack your producer And ice grill him, and make you wanna kill him dead And walk around leakin', in the bed for the weekend For playin' with the last Mohican [Madi gon?] - that's fuck you in Puerto Rican Keep quiet when you hear grown men speakin' [Verse 6: Parrish Smith] Or get smacked, this ain't no game, the shit is serious Delerious, that's how we leave cats and niggas curious The true legend, got caught shit you better call Kevin Big like Dog 40 and the Dutch from the 7-11 I'm danger like Norris the Texas Ranger The mic strangler, PMD, the fuckin' Head Banger Mo' skills fo' real for them cats that kill Pump a nine on the reg behind penitentiary steel [Chorus]